Compelling, seductive horror: have you been watching Penny Dreadful?
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Version 0 of 1. The first series of Penny Dreadful was a bloody mess. No surprise there, you might say. What else is a spooky, sensational Victoriana drama about a possibly-possessed medium, an Quartermain-ish adventurer, an American gun-for-hire who’s secretly a werewolf, and Dr Frankenstein and his many monsters going to be? Throw in a legion of vampires pursuing and being pursued by our heroes – it alternated between chasing and being chased, a bit like the end credits of The Benny Hill Show – and it’s not exactly a recipe for Downton Abbey. So, we had blood and guts, slicing and dicing, vampires chained up in basements, corpses reanimated and then ripped in half, sub-Exorcist demonic mutterings that French and Saunders would have royally skewed if they were still doing those parodies, and spiders. Lots of spiders. As is obligatory for all cult shows seeking mainstream crossover a la Game of Thrones, there was also rumpy-pumpy of all permutations and the occasional glimpse of (both male and female) genitalia. Included to entice the crucial – and sweatily priapic – teenage-boy demographic, these fleshy interludes mostly gave Dorian Gray (Reeve Carney) something to do other than admire his own cheekbones. As it was, he was passed around the other characters like the sherry at Christmas. A sensational smorgasbord, to be sure. But what there wasn’t – amid all this sound and fury, flesh, blood and bone – was anything resembling decent storytelling. Though ostensibly the league of extraordinary gentlemen (and one woman) were searching for Mina, the missing daughter of adventurous Sir Malcolm (Timothy Dalton), Penny Dreadful was, in truth, all over the place. It pursued stories for an episode before abandoning them, teased at intrigue before ignoring it, introduced delightfully crackers characters such as Simon Russell Beale’s fruity Egyptologist, Ferdinand Lyle, before jettisoning them, and, most meandering of all, idled off into a subplot about the unjust employment practices of Victorian theatres. A feast of Gothic treats whizzed up in a faulty Nutribullet. Though the first series had its moments – not least a remarkable episode that explored the backstory of Eva Green’s Vanessa Ives and threw a harsh spotlight on the misogynist tradition of misdiagnosing willful/troublesome/sexually liberated women as “mad” – Penny Dreadful was really only worth watching to see what demented direction it would take next. In this respect, it did not disappoint. But if you wanted a well-crafted, precisely plotted story, best you jog along to Scandal. Well what a difference a series makes. Penny Dreadful’s second “season” (as the Yanks would have it) is transformed, with creator and writer John “Skyfall” Logan and executive producer Sam Mendes improving on their original creation as Penny Dreadful’s Frankenstein has improved on his. In just two episodes, Penny Dreadful’s second series is more compelling than the entirety of its first outing. How? By going back to the basic principle that what propels, compels. Recognising that two of the most reliable engines of drama are the whodunnit and the will-they, won’t-they love story, Penny Dreadful now features both. After werewolfy Ethan Chandler (Josh Harnett) committed mass murder, there’s a detective on his tail. (Do werewolves have tails, incidentally?) Said detective – necessarily, tenacious, and impeccably played by Douglas Hodge – has a witness to the massacre and though said witness is unhelpfully tongueless and probably mad, you get the sense that this won’t deter dogged Douglas. And though we already know whodunnit, we don’t really want handsome Ethan to get caught (he wasn’t himself, officer!). Thus, the usually gripping game of cat and mouse between cop and killer is made all the more enthralling. Nooses of a different sort tighten around the necks of Harry Treadaway’s Victor Frankenstein, his monster Caliban/John Clare (Rory Kinnear) and the mate that Caliban demanded Frankenstein make for him. Killed and then resurrected by Victor, Billie Piper’s Bronagh has been rechristened “Lily” and no longer has a treacle-thick NornOirsh accent and now speaks in cut-glass RP. While this is a relief for everyone – not least, I imagine, Billie Piper – it’s the only relief in this trio’s story as it seems to be shaping up into a love triangle. For, having designed his monster’s bride, Frankenstein now has designs on his monster’s bride. As any seasoned watcher of soaps knows, this never ends well. There’s no reason to imagine otherwise when two of the points on the triangle are undead. Unhappy ever after takes on a whole new meaning. But by far the finest improvement to Penny Dreadful has been the addition of a proper, scary, seductive villain. Even if you haven’t any knowledge of classical literature, fairy tales, the Bible, Star Wars or Scandal (Papa Pope – boo hiss!), your guts tell you that every goodie needs a worthy baddie to define themselves against. Compare and contrast the vigour and impetus that Buffy The Vampire Slayer had when the Scooby Gang were fighting the Master, the Mayor or Glory with the lacklustre seventh season in which they battled the meh-ish First. Every protagonist needs an antagonist, ideally one with a plan who can, unlike a hissing vampire king-thing, articulate it. Step forward the majestically malevolent Evelyn Poole played with relish and vigour by the always-magnetic (and very sexy) Helen McCrory. After a brief appearance in the first series as a medium Madame Kali, you would say that McCrory’s Evelyn has returned like the proverbial bad penny but McCrory’s more of a million dollars. Whether the plan always was to unveil Evelyn as season two’s Big Bad or whether Logan and the producers had an epiphany that they had one of Britain’s finest actresses under their noses and they should perhaps offer her gainful employment, I don’t really care. That Evelyn is the fiendish fulcrum around which Penny Dreadful pivots is what counts. While a world away from either performance, McCrory’s Evelyn is the most appealing monstrous woman on telly since Monica Dolan’s Rose West in Appropriate Adult and the most captivating female antagonist since Keeley Hawes’ Lindsey Denton in Line of Duty. Yes, she’s that good. Almost. Whether bewitching or bullying, Evelyn is intoxicating. Any woman who spits out “cunt” with such vitriol – as in when she warns Ferdinand Lyle “that wicked cunt is no concern of yours” in reference to Vanessa – has got to be adored. But lest you think that Penny Dreadful is all shock, shlock and awe, be assured that it also has heart. For proof, you only need to check out the scene in episode two between Caliban/John Clare (Rory Kinnear) and Vanessa Ives in the cholera pit to see how director James Hawes has coaxed nuanced, thoughtful and understated performances out of his actors. As Vanessa and John Clare discuss the existence or not of God, it’s a tremendous scene of quiet but powerful tenderness. Even with a Big Bad with a penchant for cutting open babies, Penny Dreadful also tugs at the figurative heartstrings. It’s edifying that even in this day and age, you can get such shiny change from a Penny. Penny Dreadful continues Tuesday, 10pm, Sky Atlantic in the UK; and Sunday, 10pm, Showtime in the US |